


Home Alive

by BobbySinger (wylf_storm)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hugging, M/M, Reunion, angel grace, trueform!Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wylf_storm/pseuds/BobbySinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is free. Finally,<em> finally</em>, he is free.</p><p>The particles that once were held in the body of one Jimmy Novak, that were known colloquially as <em>Cas</em> glow softly. His silver-blue light glistens like oil on water, fluid but gaseous, tangible but flighty as a cloud in summer. He is everything, and nothing.</p><p>He is simply, <em>Castiel.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [msfcatlover](http://msfcatlover.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, who requested Trueform!Cas finding a way to hug Dean. She also requested four-winged Cas needing help with his grooming which I am 17398571897563092651920359% on board with, but that'll be later shh.

He is free. Finally, _finally,_ he is free.

There is something uniquely liberating about being pure, untainted Grace again, not bound by feeble flesh or human whim. It would be calming, had he nerves to soothe.

The particles that once were held in the body of one Jimmy Novak, that were known colloquially as _Cas_ glow softly. It is not an emotion as such, but an expression of appreciating that he is unburdened with earthly constraints again, and a call to his siblings to alert them of his return to their throng. His silver-blue light glistens like oil on water, fluid but gaseous, tangible but flighty as a cloud in summer. He is everything, and nothing.

He is simply, _Castiel._

A stretch of space passes him by (because what is time to an inter-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent?) until his existence is interrupted by a prayer.

_“Cas, it’s me, it’s Dean. Buddy, I dunno if you’re up there somewhere, but… we saw you go down, Cas. I saw you break - hell, I had to clean off the bits, but… Cas, please, if you’re up there, let me know. Please, Cas, tell me your ass got pulled through again, tell me you were the exception.”_

Castiel pauses for a moment to listen before flaring in displeasure at the tone in Dean’s voice. Castiel knows every inflection of the man he pieced together again, and he finds he hates the undertones of desperation that colour the hunter’s voice in his last few moments of prayer. Castiel wants to reach out to him, wants to tell him that he didn’t need to be the exception because he detached himself from his vessel in time to flee to the cosmos, wants to calm Dean and assure him he made it out. He _wants._ His brother shines at him for it.

 _-Castiel. He is a_ human _. He has lived and will die like billions before and after him. Why do you worry so?_

Castiel’s brightness waxes and wanes for a short stretch of space, before he gathers himself into a tighter cluster.

- _He does not care for himself. Someone should._

_-Why must it be you?_

_-If not I, who else?_

Duniel flares again, but Castiel has no name to put to his emotion. He isn’t sure if the full spectrum of emotions can even be felt by angels before they touch the earth. He is left alone in his contemplations, his brother having moved elsewhere among the Host. His musings are short-lived, however.

“ _Cas, I know I said yesterday, but if you’re up there… please, come down. Just let me know you’re okay, Cas, that’s all I need from you.”_

Castiel would be shocked, had he enough capabilities to express it. A full day? He had thought he had much more time than that. Summoning all his particles to his central core, he begins to concentrate.

  - 

 

It is Duniel who interrupts him, perhaps ironically.

- _Castiel, what are you doing?_

_-Leave me, Duniel. I am rebuilding my vessel._

Were he on earth, Castiel could clearly imagine the scoff Duniel would have made, and the doubtful expression he would wear.

- _Brother, your meatsuit was vaporized. What you are attempting is impossible! Only our Father could do it._

 _-Or a half a Garrison._ Castiel is resolute. He will recreate his body or spend himself trying.

- _Castiel, stop this! You will burn yourself out over a human!_

Castiel pauses for only a moment in his task. – _He is worth it._

Duniel’s Grace surrounds his own and pulls firmly, halting the fragments of him that dissipate into the void from his efforts. His own brother is stopping him from returning to Dean and despite his purity, Castiel is _furious._

 _-Duniel, do not halt me or I_ will _harm you._

_-Brother, listen. You do not need to expend yourself like this, and for what? A day at most before you combust and potentially kill him in the explosion? Castiel, listen to me! Manifest yourself for him – he cannot see your true form, but your bond from pulling him out of Hell allows him to see your Grace at least, does it not?_

The stars of Castiel slowly burn with realization. He thanks Duniel for his patience and bids him farewell.

He pours himself towards the Earth, every sense of him focused on Dean - to reassure him, to soothe him, to be there for him, to be with _Dean_.

Far, far below, people remark about the mysterious blue comet that night, and astronomers call him a miracle. They are not far wrong. There are not many things Castiel would not do for Dean.

   -

 

He lands in Lebanon, Kansas, right in the centre of the bunker’s war room. Dean has his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. Sam is nowhere to be seen, though Castiel’s Grace tells him he is present in the building.

_-Dean._

The hunter’s head snaps up, eyes wide. He searches the room frantically with his eyes, his face betraying his usually cool exterior. Castiel knows he recognizes his voice, but the suspicion in his eyes tells him that it is not completely obvious he is present.

- _Dean,_ He tries again, and Dean deftly flicks open his pocket knife, a blade too large to be kept for totally reasonable purposes.

“Who’s there?” He asks gruffly, stalking out from behind the table to put his back up to a wall, fighting instincts taking over. “Cas, that you?” He says so quietly that if Castiel weren’t within arm’s reach of him he wouldn’t have heard. _Yes,_ he wants to say, _yes Dean, it’s me, I came back,_ but try as he might, he cannot truly reach him through Grace-neural contact unless he were to use his true voice and risk damaging Dean.

He focuses his Grace around the column of his throat, hoping that this idea will work, far fetched as it is.

“Dean?”

The hunter’s head whips around, staring through the space where Castiel is manifested. “Cas?” He asks tentatively, knife still held high.

“Dean, I’m here. It’s Castiel.”

“Cas, where the hell are you? I can’t see you.” Dean lowers his knife marginally and had Castiel a corporeal face, he would smile.

“I have no vessel, but I have manifested my Grace here. I am three feet in front of you and if you can imagine me as I was, you should be able to see me.” As soon as he finishes speaking Dean has taken two steps forward and is squinting something fierce. “Cas?”

“I’m here, Dean.” The hunter’s eyes flicker almost shut at the nearness of his voice, and something in Castiel wrenches in longing. Though he is present, he is not really _there,_ and cannot comfort Dean as he would like to. He concentrates on bringing his body into focus, and hears a small gasp a few moments later. Dean’s voice is almost reverent when he says Castiel’s name quietly, and Castiel opens his eyes.

He can see his own transparent, blue-tinged limbs emitting a soft glow, the light of them brightening the war room and Dean’s face. His brows are drawn together over a smile, like he is trying to be angry but can’t. Castiel takes the opportunity to close the gap between them and bring his almost-arms around Dean. The other man is stiff for only a moment before wrapping his own arms around as much of Castiel as he can reach.

“You’re buzzing Cas,” Dean says quietly, close to Castiel’s ear. “It’s like I’m hugging a livewire. I can feel the energy, but not the pain and it’s making my arms tingle.”

“Dean, if I am hurting you-“ Castiel tries to pull away but Dean’s arms instantly lock tighter around what would be his shoulder blades, and Castiel can’t help the slight flare of himself at the possessive gesture.

“Don’t you dare move Cas. If you ever, I swear, _ever,_ pull a stunt like that again I’m going to _kill_ you.” Dean says fiercely, leaning back to look Castiel in the eye.

“I know, Dean.”

It’s a simple statement, but Dean takes it for what it is.

A promise.


End file.
